


The Festive Season Comes But Once A Year

by Mary_Jane221B



Series: I Would Give You All of Me [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Parentlock, winter holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5290610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/pseuds/Mary_Jane221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The festive season occurs but once a year and Christmas is Greg's favorite holiday of them all but with the Holmes family and John facing their first holiday without Sherlock the spirit of the season is falling a little flat. But Christmas is a time for magic and Greg's not giving up hope easily.</p><p>*This work's rating has now been changed from Teen to Explicit for sexual content.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 5th

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies
> 
> This little story is the final bridging fic before All of Me and the next full length part of the series. I'm hoping to bring you that at the start of the new year but I hope you enjoy this update as well as the Sherlock letters fic i'm writing to catch us all up with our favorite Consulting Detective as he travels the globe. 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to those celebrating, I hope you're having a wonderful day! 
> 
> Smooches from me to you
> 
> MJ X

“Daddy!” Mina shouted through the kitchen doorway and John could just picture her holding herself up against the side of a chair in Mycroft’s kitchen watching out for his and Greg’s entrance. “Daaaaaaaaaaddy” She shouted again with a slight petulance.

“Coming Mina” John answered from the entryway while peeling his damp coat from his body.

“She’s determined this evening,” Greg murmured from beside him as they walked across the tiled entryway toward the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen.

“She’s always determined when there are sweet treats involved.”John muttered recognising the sweet cinnamon and nutmeg undertones of Mrs Hudson’s famous Christmas cookies. They walked side by side into the kitchen that evening and found his daughter bouncing on the tiles her tiny hand pointed up toward the side where Mrs Hudson and Ms Dent stood rolling pasty and biscuit dough.

“Daddy biscs”

Greg laughed at Mina’s continued dancing while taking a small quantity of the biscuit mixture straight from Mrs Hudson’s bowl. He danced away toward the table on the tips his toes when Mrs Hudson took a swipe at him with her spoon.

“Oh you’re a menace Gregory Lestrade.” Mrs Hudson chastised jokingly.

“The middle name is Nathaniel just in case you ever need to really tell me off Mrs H.” Greg said with a wink.

John scooped Mina off her feet settling her gently on his hip, “Is Nanny making her Christmas cookies Mina? Did you know they’re Daddy’s favourite? We can take some with us tomorrow when we go to see Auntie Tammy.”

“TamTam!” Mina shouted raising her arms in a cheer she started babbling excitedly . Pushing off John, who placed her gently on her feet, she ran to one of kitchen’s corners where Mycroft had placed an open topped toy box a week before. She started pulling out a random combination of soft toys which she then cuddled in her arms and carried them over to where Greg waited ready to accept the objects with hushed coos and questions about what each creature was.

“You’re taking her to see Tammy tomorrow?” Mrs Hudson asked. John had been pushing to maintain as much of Mina’s original routine as possible following their temporary move out of Baker Street but Mycroft had so far been resistant to anything involving large groups of people and Christmas shopping around London’s central shopping districts had qualified greatly until John had agreed to be accompanied by, in his opinion, a truly ridiculous amount of personal security.

Mycroft had become paranoid about the possibility of Mina being kidnapped over recent weeks after it emerged Moran had played a pivotal role in the planning and execution of multiple operations for Moriarty where the displacement of the children of high powered dignitaries across the Middle East had played a crucial role in their eventual success.

John started to help Mrs Hudson take spoonfuls of the biscuit mixture onto the baking parchment.

“Yeah I want to get her out of the house and Tammy is missing her like crazy. Chanukah is coming up and I think Tam wants Mina to learn a little about it before there are suddenly candles being lit and you know little gifts being handed to her.”

Mrs Hudson nodded along with him while pulling out two baking sheets and started to line them with paper.

“How’s Mycroft handling it?” She asked while running her scissors through the paper to leave a perfectly straight edge.

“Us going out? He was alright once I agreed he could stalk our every movement.” John tried not to sound bitter. The man was only looking out for his only niece’s welfare John knew but he couldn’t help but feel the doubt Mycroft expressed somehow reflected his opinion of John as a father and his ability to be her protector.  Mrs Hudson stayed silent no doubt sensing all of the irritation in his body language and patted his hand before changing the subject.

“How was the clinic today?” She asked and John smiled looking over at where Mina was balanced now in Greg’s lap happily chattering to him about her toys and some of the undoubtedly exciting adventures they had undertaken today while John, Greg and Mycroft had been at work.

“It was good actually. I think I’m getting back into the swing of things. I hate not being able to tell anyone about her though. I missed her today, was she good?” John asked.

“Oh love, she’s always good. I hate that you can’t tell anyone about her.” Mrs Hudson said smiling over at the little girl a little sadly.

“Mycroft says it isn’t safe yet.” John pointed out while trying a corner of one of the cookies.

“I know but still she’s your daughter. It’s a shame you can’t show her off.”

John agreed silently thinking how nice it would be to show off the pictures he had on his phone proudly, he moved the first tray to the oven and accepted the second from Mrs Hudson’s light grip.

“Well she’ll have to go in at some point soon. Her Redbook is out of date and it’s unethical of me to treat her myself.” John said closing the door and accepting the cup tea Mrs Dent offered him.

“Don’t most doctors treat their own families?” Mrs. Dent asked not even pretending she had not been listening in to their conversation.

“I suppose in a general way most do; treating the cuts, bumps and bruises most children experience at some point but I think most would draw the line at vaccinations. They’re often distressing for children and I don’t want her associating that experience with me.” John explained between sips of his tea.

“Nana biscs pwease” Mina asked looking up from the table and her play time with Greg.

“In a little while sweetie they have to cook first. After dinner maybe.”

Mina pouted a little but dissolved into giggles under Greg’s tickling fingers. “No cookies for Little Dove,” He cried “Uncle Greg is a cookie monster.” He growled the nickname at her and held her tight as she squirmed and laughed away from his snapping teeth.

“No Rory.” Mina protested lightly pushing his shoulder.

The sound of the front door opening followed by the steady footfalls and repetitive clicking noise of a thin object hitting the ground brought both Mina and Greg’s attention to the doorway.

“Mymy” Mina gasped and called out his name again before abandoning Greg to run to her Uncle before he reached the kitchen. What followed was unmistakable noise of an oak handled umbrella hitting the floor before the telltale singing that accompanied Mycroft’s arrival every evening, at least it accompanied said arrival every evening Mycroft was home before Mina went to bed.

The pair arrived in the kitchen, Mycroft balancing Mina in a tight embrace her arms flung around his neck and face resting against his pristine collar. He hummed the same soothing tune as always one John recognised but could never place a name to while he rocked his niece lightly.

“Good evening everyone,” Mycroft greeted nodding briefly to Mrs Dent before leaning over to kiss Greg lightly on the lips.  “How was your day?” He whispered while still holding Mina close to his chest.

“It went well” Greg answered stroking Mycroft’s cheek lightly, “yours?”

“Would that I could say but tiny ears might be listening.” Greg glanced to Mina and watched as she played quietly with one of the mother of pear buttons of Mycroft’s still crisply ironed shirt her eyes drifting closed slightly as Mycroft swayed them from side to side.

John cleared his throat lightly and the couple looked up to see him miming the letter ‘T’ while Mrs Hudson did her best to stifle a broad grin.

Mycroft cleared his throat and answered for the pair of them while Greg began clearing away Mina’s veritable zoo of stuffed animals. Mrs Hudson tittered lightly over the bowl of lightly spiced apples and cranberries before Mrs Dent swatted her with the back of a spoon while trying valiantly to repress her own elation. Mycroft had been alone for so long and a house full of loved ones at Christmas was a wonderful development even if it was necessitated by terrible circumstances.


	2. Interlude: Greg and Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude chapter that has bumped this fic's rating from Teen and up to Explicit. Unexpected but I hope welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Sweeties,
> 
> I hope everyone is well and enjoying the start of the weekend. It's cold and rainy here but I'm hoping it's nicer where some of you are. 
> 
> This chapter took me a little by surprise because it's actually not what I intended to write at all for the next chapter hence it's title being a little lackluster. Please heed the change in rating this fic is now explicit and contains Mystrade porn, see chapter, it's not too explicit (i've read worse) but it's far more than i've written for these two before so maybe drop me a comment and let me know what you think *slightly doe like eyes*. 
> 
> Ta ta for now, I'm off to make a cup of tea and get ready to watch Doctor Who.
> 
> MJ X

Greg pulled his overcoat closer around his trembling body as he balanced the unlit cigarette between his lips and scrambled, with his one free hand in his pocket, for his lighter.

“You really ought to stop smoking Gregory” Murmured a rough baritone voice from behind him. Mycroft wonderfully mussed from his interrupted sleep copied Greg’s movements in pulling his own coat tight against his pyjama covered body.

“It’s just gone three Myc go back to bed.”

“Not without you.” Mycroft stepped out onto the patio and closed the door as quietly as possible. They stood just off the kitchen protected only slightly from the sharp bite of the December chill. Greg watched as Mycroft shuffled closer until he stood within touching distance of the detectives glove covered hand, “Come back to bed Gregory, the temperature his hardly conducive to an early morning stroll.”

“I know love, I just couldn’t sleep.”

Mycroft huffed slightly before taking the final stride into Greg’s personal space and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Do you want to discuss whatever it is that happened at work today?” Mycroft asked.

Greg had noticed Mycroft glancing his way all evening; over dinner, during the truly terrible Christmas movie Mrs Hudson had chosen before they all retired for the evening, Greg knew he had been at the centre of Mycroft’s thinking as the man studied him attempting to deduce the cause of Greg’s slight withdrawal.

Greg had tried to sleep; he had positioned himself on Mycroft’s chest and tried to lose himself in his partner’s heartbeat. He had thought it might lull him to sleep but he couldn’t let go of his workday no matter how much Mycroft stroked his long fingers through his hair and hummed that tune he always sang to Mina. He had given up half an hour ago slipping out of bed and making his way downstairs fixing himself a short drink of whiskey before stepping outside.

“Not really.” Greg answered finally managing to light his cigarette and take a drag. The smoke upon his exhale wound itself through the air in a thin grey cloud and the pair of them stood in silence for a while and watched it make its way closer to the clear sky above before it dissipated into nothing a few meters above them. The silence was comforting as was the steady pressure of Mycroft’s grip and the slight warmth emanating from his partner’s body.

Mycroft hummed lightly before he started talking “There’s been a fair deal of movement today. My agents that follow Moran seem to think there’s a plan a foot. His organisation appear to be making their way from Berlin to Ireland,”

“The Republic of?” Greg interrupted.

“No, unfortunately not, I’ve been in touch with the intelligence service on both sides of the border in case we get lucky and Moran tries to pass through the North on route.”

Greg took another sharp inhale before sighing wearily “Anderson is on his way out.” He muttered rocking slightly on his heels.

 He had done his best. Fought the man’s corner all day but there was no denying the forensic technician was falling apart. The force’s therapist had given a statement blaming the stress of the job along with personal trauma but everyone present knew that Anderson had been losing his grip on the job since Sherlock’s suicide.

Mycroft stood in silence but allowed his hand to begin a steady repetitive journey tracing Greg’s side through the thick material of his coat. Greg wanted something rougher, something more brutal from the man, he felt emotionally raw from a day of disciplinary hearings and the testimony from his own team against one of their own.  Sally had been forced to give a detailed statement in front of senior members of the discipline board as to her role in Sherlock’s final days and overall Greg felt very much as if he had been forced through the still smouldering embers of a fire backwards.

 He wanted a physical bite of pain to remind him that he was here with Mycroft and not still facing the solitary life of a man trapped in an emotionally draining marriage as he had been while Sherlock was alive.

Listening to those statements, understanding the degree to which he had been wrapped within his own torment over Sherlock’s death and the crumbling remains his marriage while his team had been struggling and Anderson had been losing himself left him with such feelings of guilt that he had felt as if he might choke on them.

Then he had come home. He had come home and met John in the driveway the pair of them having been caught in the momentary icy downpour during their commute and they had laughed and been greeted by the warm smells and smiles of this home Mycroft was building for them. He had accepted hugs and given attention to Mina whose confidence and personality became more pronounced with each day she spent surrounded by the security and love they all provided for her.

Greg had greeted his lover with a kiss and been allowed to leave his hand lightly on the man’s thigh throughout dinner. He was in a relationship now where his touches were always welcomed, where he was sought out for comfort and intelligent conversation, where he was expected to share and have opinions of his own. He was respected in this house. In short he was loved and he felt, today, as if he deserved none of it.

He had played a key role in the dismantling of the world Mycroft had built prior to Mina. A world that had for many reasons revolved around his younger Brother. A man that had been lost in no small way because of the decisions Greg himself had made months back.

“How can you not be angry with me Mycroft? How can you not want to pull me limb from limb? How can you possibly say you love me as you do?” Greg asked quietly. He knew he didn’t need to qualify the topic of his questions. He knew Mycroft would understand.

 Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes and Greg lost himself in the steady routine of smoking while Mycroft processed the questions to deliver what Greg knew would be the most honest answer he could.

“I am not angry with you because I do not blame you. I do not wish to pull you limb from limb because even if I were angry I do not believe violence is the correct route to handle such grievances and I say I love you because I do.” Mycroft simply and he hushed Greg when he attempted to snap a retort back. “I fall a little more in love with you every day Gregory. You are the one example I have found, in a sea filled with goldfish, of a man I can hold as my equal in every way I care about for a partner.” Mycroft said.

“Our differences complement each other in a way I have not experienced before with a lover or a friend and you are both to me. Gregory, please hear me, every day you allow me to share your life is a minor miracle to me. That you would see past my faults, that you would think me worthy of your time, these things are the greatest gift I have ever been given by another.” Mycroft pulled the cigarette from his loose lips and stomped on it before placing his bare hands on Greg’s face.

“You allow me the freedom to feel and you accept every thought I have with welcome arms and a thoughtful head. In short you prove yourself to be, day after day, every dream I ever held for myself and everything I believed I would never be blessed enough to find. I love you Gregory, with every ounce of my heart and head. Please believe that.” Mycroft begged running his thumbs lightly over Greg’s cheek bones to catch the stray tears that had slipped through Greg’s control.

“Come back to bed love” Mycroft softly demanded slipping a hand into Greg’s he pulling him lightly toward the door.

“In a minute Myc, just give me a minute.” Greg pleaded touching his lips softly to the man’s cheek and brushing his thumb across his bottom lip. Mycroft nodded his smile having a sharp edge of sadness to it and turned alone to re-enter the house.

Greg fished his phone out of his pocket and called his eldest sister.

“Greggie?” Sara asked as her voice croaked with sleep.

“Hi Sara, I’m sorry to wake you.” Greg muttered sheepishly.

“No,” Sara cut herself off with a yarn and Greg heard the soft noise of cotton against cotton as well as what he guessed was the muted whining of his youngest niece. “No Greg hun it’s fine. Are you alright?” She hushed her daughter quietly on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah I’m, no actually not really.” Sara hummed in sympathy and Greg heard the muffled noise of a door clicking. “I don’t know what I’m doing Sara.”

“What do you mean? With your lovely man? Or at work? Is it Her?”

“No that’s all under control. The lawyers are dealing with the whole thing I don’t really know what’s happening.” Greg trusted Mycroft’s lawyers to figure the situation out without him underfoot asking ridiculous questions he didn’t need to know the answer to “It’s just” Greg began but hesitated because he didn’t really know what was wrong. His work may be emotionally complicated but it was nothing he hadn’t had to face before and he had seen and had to speak through worse and Mycroft, Mycroft was great, wonderful in fact but something about this whole day was making Greg’s heart ache. “I just don’t know what to do sis.”

“Oh Greggie” Greg felt himself welling up again and swiped harshly at his eyes “You’ve always been too hard on yourself love. You’re allowed to have bad days.”

“I’m a copper Sara, I just, I dunno what’s happening anymore. I feel lost and it hurts because sometimes I think I’ve never been this happy before.”

“What do you mean love?”

“I mean with Mycroft Sara, he’s just, I don’t know how to describe the whole thing. He makes me feel alive.”

“Sometimes being alive hurts Greg, sometimes loving someone hurts, sometimes being happy hurts and sometimes Greg, hun, sometimes hurting is alright. As long as you’re still breathing, as long as you’re still happy. Sometimes it’s alright to feel hurt. You’ve been through a lot Greg. You’ve seen a lot more than most people and you’ve done so much good. We’re all so proud of you hun. All of that though. All of that stuff you’ve had to fight through. It leaves a mark on you Greggie.”

Greg sighed deeply trying to pull back the burn and ache of repressing his unwarranted sobs. “I love you Sara,” Greg muttered leaning back against the wall of the house and watching the moon where it hung high and full in the sky.

“I love you to Greg, so, so much. I can’t wait to see you in a few weeks.”

“Less than two now,” Greg sighed “The kids are alright?”

“Yeah they’re fine; Billie’s got a cold that’s been keeping her up for the last few nights though.”

“Give her a kiss for me?”

“I will, give your yummy man a kiss for me.” Sara said cheekily and Greg laughed.

“You’ve never seen him Sara how can you know he’s yummy.” Greg said through his broad smile.

“He got you out of that hideous marriage and makes you happy. He could look like a troll and I’d still think he was one of the yummiest men I had ever seen.”

“Thanks for talking to me.”

“Any time my lovely brother calls I’m going to be all ears. I miss you Greg, I’m happy you’re coming home.”

“Me to sis, I’ll see you soon. Give Mum a kiss if you see her before me.”

“She’s coming to Billie and Tyler’s nativity play next week, which you are still invited to you know.”

“I know, I know, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good man, bring his Lordship and the rest of your little family if you can manage it. Now go get some sleep like I’m going to alright. You’re no good to anyone exhausted Greg.”

“Yes marm.”

“Laters Bro.” Greg laughed as Sara hung up the phone with an exaggerated kissing noise. Greg pushed himself off the wall and with one last look at the moon went back to bed.

Mycroft was sat up against the headboard waiting for him reading glasses perched on his nose and work notes resting across his raised knees. 

“You could have gone back to sleep.” Greg said shucking his coat off and hanging it vaguely on the back of the wooden chair nearest the door before climbing back under the heavy down covers.

“I could have but I was waiting up for you.” Mycroft said flipping the front of the sheaf of papers back onto the top of the pile and removing his reading glasses. “I didn’t want you to have to feel like you were sneaking around.” Mycroft muttered placing the papers on the bedside table and dimming the lamp further.

“Come down here.” Greg said pulling Mycroft a little until he was back in their earlier sleeping position. Greg pushed his cold nose against the small portion of Mycroft’s chest that was visible through the other man’s, slightly skewed, pyjamas. He inhaled deeply allowing the musk of the day and Mycroft’s natural scent to fill his senses.

“You seem to be feeling a little better.” Mycroft said his voice rumbling softly as he caressed the parts of Greg’s head and face he could see.

Greg hummed in response pulling open a few of Mycroft buttons to allow him more skin access. “You smell good Myc.” Mycroft grunted from above him and Greg found himself in no short order being hauled up the bed and flipped onto his back. Mycroft held himself over him his arms fully extended and pinned Greg in place with his darkening eyes.

“You think you can distract me Gregory?”

“No Myc, I know I can.”

Greg hooked a foot over his lover’s hip and bucked his hips up to slide their rapidly filling cocks against each other.

 “I want you.” He whispered and Mycroft lips crashed against his as he hoped they would.

 Mycroft’s kisses were as fierce as always when he walked that thin edge of control Greg sometimes brought him right up to. Sometimes their loving was soft and sweet, two men coming together to comfort each other and reaffirm their mutual affection and sometimes it was this; it was raw and sharp, it was painful and left them both bruised the next day. Both were real and both were them but sometimes one was more called for than the other and today Greg needed Mycroft to take control of him.

“What do you want?” Mycroft asked against his lips. “Tell me so I don’t get this wrong.”

He cupped Mycroft’s face in his and brought it close enough to lightly wrap his teeth around the bottom lip. He pulled slightly, listening as Mycroft inhaled sharply and Greg writhed with him when Mycroft started thrusting his cock against him again.

“I want this Myc.” Greg cupped his partner’s cock through the thin material of his pyjama bottoms and stroked gently. “I want this and I want you. That’s it right now. That’s all. Is that alright?” Greg asked softly.

Mycroft devoted himself to delivering biting kisses to Greg’s neck for a short while before muttering “It’s always alright Gregory.”

Greg let Mycroft direct their actions; let his body be moved at the other man’s whims onto his knees with his back resting against Mycroft’s chest. He positioned himself; with his hands braced against the head board and readied himself; pushing back on Mycroft’s fingers when asked. His head lolled back against Mycroft’s shoulder when the man gripped Greg’s weeping erection and moaned when the man’s grip strayed into being too tight for comfort. Mycroft started a steady rhythm of strokes that matched the light thrust of his hips and Greg let his thoughts and mouth run freely when Mycroft finally picked up speed. He spoke when he needed to, when Mycroft’s grip on his hips became sharp enough to sting and he just wanted more. He groaned when Mycroft dragged his nails down his chest in response to his soft begging, shouted out when he twisted his nipples and came, blindingly, when Mycroft led him over that edge with a skill Greg would never have anticipated before knowing him in this manner.

Greg was still panting and regaining the feeling through his body when he felt Mycroft stiffen behind him and come noiselessly within Greg he whined at the sharp pain he felt when Mycroft withdrew his softening cock and only dallied momentarily to feel Mycroft run a digit softly around his puffed hole. Greg allowed himself to be pulled off his knees and away from the support of the headboard so he could fall backwards onto Mycroft’s chest while the pair caught their breath together and Mycroft wrapped him tightly in his arms.

“Love you Greg,” Mycroft said through his sharp panting “God so much”. Greg allowed them to lie in silence Mycroft with his eyes closed and his finger nails digging sharply into Greg’s chest.

“I called my sister.” Greg said while rolling himself off Mycroft and settling on his stomach next to the man, “I used to call her all the time when I was younger and was first working the beat before I got married, even when I was a newlywed I guess.”

“Why did you stop?” Mycroft asked his eyes still closed.

“Because my lovely wife didn’t like it” Greg sneered at nothing in particular, just the memory of the woman he had devoted so much of his life to could put Mycroft on edge but if they were having this conversation he thought he should at least be honest. “She thought it was ‘weird how close I was to my sisters’ it made her uncomfortable I guess. Anyway, I only mention it because her two kids are in a nativity play next week and she wants me to go.”

Greg summoned his not unlimited courage and said “to be more accurate she would like us to go. She would like to meet you and I think she also wants you to meet our mum who will also be there, that night, to see the kids do the whole Godly routine. Anyway I thought you probably wouldn’t want to go so I haven’t said yes but I thought I might just ask, you know in case I’m wrong and you’re totally into little children retelling the Christmas story in homemade costumes covered in glitter and inaccurate angel wings” he stopped talking when Mycroft laid a hand lightly across his mouth.

“At some point in that speech you should have stopped for breath.” Mycroft chastised lightly. “Gregory I don’t want you to feel you have to invite me to a family event just because your sister is extending an invitation. Our entire courtship has been rushed to a degree and I would not want you to feel, I am wondering how I can say this without causing you offense, backed into a corner by this.”

Greg kissed the fingers that sat across his lips until Mycroft released him.

“You’re not backing me into a corner love I would like for you to come if you want to. I wondered if maybe we could take Mina. Maybe even John and Mrs Hudson? My sister invited everyone so it wouldn’t be a problem.” He explained quickly.

Mycroft studied him in the muted light of their bedroom brushing back Greg’s short grey locks that had plastered themselves to his forehead with sweat.

“Maybe just Mina?” Mycroft said softly “It could be a good evening for John to see his sister. He has been attempting to bring it up for a few days; I know he does not wish to take Mina to such an event He fears, correctly I am afraid, that she has started drinking again.”

Greg nodded shuffling forward to rest his head under Mycroft’s chin. “You wouldn’t mind meeting my family?” he asked.

Mycroft smiled down at him “Not at all Gregory, it would be an honour to meet them. As long as you wish for me to.”

“I do. You might even enjoy the show you know.” Mycroft snorted lightly above him and Greg grinned into his chest.

“Sherlock was in one once” Mycroft said attempting to kick them free of the tangle of blankets entwined around their lower halves, “He was the angel Gabriel and just as he was about to do the grand proclamation at the beginning our Grandfather started to snore. Sherlock, obviously upset about this, shouted his entire speech at the top of his lungs. My Mother was mortified but it worked most effectively my Grandfather was startled into wakefulness and the two women in front of us told my Mother at the end of the performance that it was so nice to see a child of Sherlock’s age who could enunciate their part correctly.”

The pair of them giggle as Mycroft straightened the covers and brought two of the pillows down to the bottom of the bed where they seemed to have set up to sleep for the night. Greg thought they could have just moved back up the bed and slept at the correct end but he was not in the mood to argue if Mycroft was feeling indulgent. His body was becoming heavy with exhaustion in any case enough that when Mycroft shifted his head onto his own pillow and curled his body around Greg’s all Greg could muster in the way of help was a sigh of pleasure. Greg let himself be pulled in closer to Mycroft’s side and curled up against the other man’s shoulder before finally allowing himself to sleep fully.

“Goodnight Gregory.” Mycroft said softly from above him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone on my twitter asked if I was leading up to 'Many Happy Returns' and my answer to them is merely a wink ;-) Anderson going a little nutty seemed cannonish to me. 
> 
> You can find my Twitter here: https://twitter.com/MaryJane221b and I'm also on Tumblr come say hi!


	3. Everyone Goes Home For Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg head home to see their families.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter of two halves. First half John and Second half Greg. 
> 
> Enjoy sweeties
> 
> MJ x

Things had been going too smoothly for John Watson today. He concluded his day at the clinic by five after wrapping up a young man’s arm that had sprained on the hockey field. It was a perfectly mundane end to an equally routine day and overall John had found no distraction in work and was, as such, thoroughly nervous about the tasks he had chosen to undertake that evening.  

He called Mrs Hudson from inside the black cab he managed to summon relatively quickly and discovered there had been no major incidents on route to her sisters’ and that she too had been treated to a perfectly dull day which she had the luxury of treating as a blessing. She wished him luck on his evening’s venture and then rang off to enjoy her special time with her family.

 He tried Mycroft next hoping the man would have been called to some international emergency and would therefore not be able to take care of Mina insisting on his immediate return to The Manor and gift John with an evening of quiet television and story time with his daughter.  He was met with no such luck as Mycroft reported no major catastrophes’ and a general lack of movement from within London’s criminal classes. Damn the bastard’s John thought to himself as the taxi navigated the border of central London smoothly and with little interruption for traffic or congestion. Why today or all days could there not be some major road block or traffic jam?

“You alright mate you look a bit ill?” the Cabbie asked.

John had been unaware of his audience until that moment. The cab driver flicked his eyes back to scan over John every time they hit traffic lights and had to come to a full stop. What little of his reflection John was able to make out in the scuffed and dirty plastic that acted as a security divider between himself and the driver provided a fevered illustration of the face of a man approaching the gallows. John was pale and looked positively ill. It was hardly the appearance of a man looking forward to an evening of festive family fun.

John had a tendency to become overly poetic when he dreaded something. Forced Christmas interactions with his mother and sister came pretty high on the list of things he would happily avoid on an annual basis but when combined with the one off extra of having to tell the pair of them about the existence and importance of Mina, his daughter and their respective Grandchild and Niece, made the prospect of this year’s Watson family meet up particularly daunting.

He flashed the cab driver what he hoped was a reassuring smile and even managed a mostly positive sounding noise. They hit the ring road and started down the stretch of the carriage way that John knew by heart. So little had changed in the decade he had been making the journey from central London.

They entered Southwark over two near consecutive speed bumps and John was ‘home’ if you could call the tower block they pulled up in front of that. He handed over the requisite money to the cabby and told him to keep the change. John returned the ‘Merry Christmas’ before climbing out of the cab and approaching the scratched up glass that welcomed him to his Mother’s abode. John made his way up the familiar roughened cement stairs and counted each one just as he had when he was ten and returning home from school uncertain of the state their flat would be in once he arrived.

John found himself in front of the faded blue of his childhood home’s front door and breathed deeply before slotting the slightly rusty key he had always left on his key ring into the Yale lock and coming face to face with Christmases long since past.

“Hello Johnny.”

***

Across the city a black town car pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Police Headquarters and waited. Safely wrapped in the heated embrace of leather and varnished oak Mycroft Holmes leant over to check on his niece and found the ebony haired girl fast asleep and drooling slightly.

“Always such a lady Little Dove.” Mycroft whispered brushing his cotton handkerchief gently across Mina’s chin to clear away the small amount of liquid that had collected there.

The door to his right opened quickly and the seat opposite was suddenly occupied by a very cold looking Greg Lestrade. The man shivered as he peeled off the heavy wet cotton of his overcoat and removed his leather work gloves.

“Hello Darling” Mycroft greeted leaning across the gap between them to place a quick kiss to the corner of his partner’s mouth. He was greeted by a short grunt and treated to the relative silence of Gregory after a hard day at the office.

Mycroft had known the inquests were due to end today, he even knew their outcomes having been informed by Anthea when the decisions had come in, but he said nothing. He waited in silence as their driver started the short journey to Greg’s family home and the Nativity play he knew Greg had been looking forward to. He could only hope the results of the inquest into his brother’s death and The Metropolitan’s police’s conduct did not ruin their evening.

The car continued in silence. Mycroft spent the duration of the ride reading over some of the work he had managed to pry out of Anthea’s grip before leaving the office and Greg spent the time brooding darkly in the car. In Mycroft’s opinion Mina surely used the time most efficiently, curled up warm and secure in the blanket Mrs Hudson had made her, his niece was untroubled by the tense atmosphere that was developing between the two men.

It was not until the end of the journey, when the car pulled onto the road Mycroft’s knew contained Gregory’s childhood home, that he dared break the silence.

“You couldn’t have done anything Gregory. You couldn’t have stopped this.” Mycroft said firmly. He watched Greg’s fingers clasp tightly together and felt the silence thicken further in response.

Mycroft could see his partner’s pain, fancied he could feel the dull throb of guilt and grief in his own stomach, but knew he could have done nothing. Phillip Anderson had made his own bed, now as the saying went, he must lie in it.

When the car drew to a stop outside the brightly lit and tastefully decorated door of Number 22 Carlisle Road  Mycroft sighed before going through the motions of securing his papers and handing them over to their driver to place in the car’s mini safe. He moved on to releasing Mina and waking her gently from what appeared to be a very deep sleep. She fought him every minute curling her tiny fists into his lapels when he removed her from her seat and rested her against his chest.

“Gregory I know you’re in pain but we’re at your mother’s house now. Your family is inside and you have so wanted to see them. Let’s not let this ruin our evening.” Mycroft glanced to the front window of the perfectly maintained terraced house and smiled slightly at the two young faces that were pressed up against it clearly straining to see who was in the car. “It looks like your family are waiting for us, let’s go and see them Love.”

Greg managed a small smile and a much larger sigh before leaning forward to press his lips to Mycroft’s cheek and Mina’s forehead shortly after.

“I don’t deserve you.” Greg said quietly.

“Untrue Gregory, it is I who does not deserve you” Mycroft answered equally softly.

The men sat quietly together for a few seconds enjoying the moment of domesticity with Mycroft’s niece safely between them Greg acknowledged that this was what he had needed. He had dreaded it toward the end of the work day, much preferring the idea of a stiff drink and a few furtive cigarettes, but here he was about to introduce the love of his life to the family he had so missed and truthfully he felt nothing but gladness.  

Greg shot Mycroft a quick grin before cracking the door and popping his head over the top edge to wink at his niece and nephew who knelt watching them from the living room window seat he had occupied many nights as a child waiting for his father to come whistling down the road having finished his shift at the post office. Greg remembered the excitement when he saw it reflected in the children’s faces and braced himself for the storm of people he was sure was about to descend on them.

Mycroft climbed out after him moving slowly as he balanced a stubborn Mina and a gift bag in his arms. Greg swooped in to save the bag he had failed to notice earlier and the two men stood in silence just outside the small gate that led the way up to his parent’s door.

From just beyond the door the pair could hear the muffled shouts of both children and adults in turn and when Greg chuckled and approached the door Mycroft held back feeling honestly intimidated by the potential for so many new people that he was desperate to impress. He brought his niece even closer and felt her gentle puffs of breaths against his neck. Mina whined in her sleep her palm coming to rest over Mycroft’s pulse point as he bounced her gently.

Greg tapped he knocker gently against the door and looked back to find Mycroft. He smiled at the man’s clear nervousness; the way his was bouncing Mina looked more agitated than soothing, but let him hold back. The Lestrade’s could be a boisterous family at the best of times and when faced with new people doubly so. His mother would undoubtedly fuss and his closest sister would certainly interrogate Myc for all her worth.

There was sharp shout from the hallway behind the glass fronted door and Greg watched as the unmistakable silhouette of his mother came tottering to the front door. She pulled it open and hardly waited seconds before wrapping her arms around Greg and holding on tightly.

“Gregory Lestrade you’re in so much trouble” she said into his shoulder.

Pulling back Greg’s mother clasped his face between her soft hands and simply looked at him. Checking for any changes or injuries she could no doubt scold him for. “You haven’t been sleeping enough young man, look at the bags under your eyes. If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, eight hours of sleep a night Gregory.”

Mycroft did his best to repress the snort of laughter his body produced but succeeded in nothing more than drawing attention to himself and Mina where they stood by the town car.

“I see you brought some friends’ home,” Greg turned and held his hand out waiting for Mycroft to take it.

“Here we go Mina” Mycroft muttered under his breath before pasting on the most honest smile he could and moving forward to take his partner’s hand.


	4. The Comfort of Familiarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is somewhat of a filler chapter I admit but still I hope you enjoy.
> 
> MJ x

Dust motes swirled through the air of 221b’s living room while john watched from where he was curled into the corner of the sofa. The detritus of his life as a father filled every available surface just as it had on the day they had been forced to abandon their home and take up at Mycroft’s and John wondered at the comfort of just being in this room. 

A thin layer of dust had begun accumulating over most of the surfaces and as John stretched out his toes slightly to touch the closest edge of the coffee table. Small voids in the grey particles were created revealing the darkly varnished surface underneath. His phone vibrated for the third time in an hour and john regarded it from its placement on the sofa’s arm.

‘Lestrade’ his phone pronounced; each one of its vibrations reminding John both of his responsibilities and his perceived cowardice in avoiding each of them. John ignored his phone, lay on his side and curled further in on himself.   
***  
Lestrade stood tapping his foot rhythmically against the kitchen island his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder while he tried to get hold of John for the third time that morning. They knew where he was, Mycroft’s cameras having followed him after he departed his mother’s, but they had yet to ascertain the purpose of his seclusion or the intended duration. Mina sat snuggled on Mycroft’s lap valiantly attempting to keep her eyes open while her Uncle read to her from the world news section of The Times. 

“You should give her a break love she looks ready to drop off” Greg said to Mycroft. Mycroft ignored him choosing the raise a single eyebrow and sip silently from his coffee cup before turning the corner of his broadsheet. Mina yawned widely and pressed her face more firmly in Mycroft’s pristine white shirt but kept her eyes a smidgen open and smiled slightly when she caught sight of Greg’s ridiculously large grin. 

The automated voice of John’s phone pronounced him unavailable once again and Greg stabbed at his phone in annoyance rather than leave yet another pleading message. “For God sake what are you doing John?” Greg asked of no one in particular. 

“I imagine he is wallowing after an unpleasant visit with his mother and has chosen to do so in the perceived comfort of Baker Street rather than have to face an audience consisting of his family and likely closest friend. John will return when he is ready Gregory, best to leave him to it for now, come and drink some of this coffee before you leave. You are already late after all.” Greg swore under his breath when he checked the clock. Ten minutes past nine and he had promised Sally he would be in the office for half past today. He swallowed his mildly warm cup of coffee, conveniently fixed to his exact preferences, and dropped a haphazard kiss on Mycroft face before running out of the door. He returned moments later to collect the briefcase and stainless steel travel mug he had left by his usual chair at the breakfast table. 

Mycroft watched his partner leave in a flurry of a grey over coat and considered the small girl now openly drooling on his chest having given in to the temptation of an early morning nap. She had been restless throughout the night she was so used to having John in the room with her that Mycroft had been up and down to soothe her all night before Gregory had simply risen himself and collected the little girl to sleep in their bed, which she had managed more easily than Mycroft had expected once she secured a fist full of his pyjama shirt.

They managed most of the morning well enough. Mycroft holding Mina up and dancing around the cleaning and kitchen staff who helped keep the household functioning in the way Mycroft preferred until he settled them in his home office and commenced doing what little work Anthea had agreed to him taking him for his day off. Mycroft consenting to take a day without going to the office was such a rarity that on the occasions Mycroft bowed to the pressure of his executive assistant she insisted he actually detach himself from the world of politics as well. It had not passed his notice that this morning’s copy of The Times was a few pages and articles short but he appreciated the effort and given the unforeseen addition of his niece to his day he was grateful for the time. 

Mina stirred against him at ten and made plaintive noises in the last stages of sleep until Mycroft started the bounce and walk movement Gregory had been attempting to teach him as a method of soothing the girl when she fussed. She had settled somewhat when his private line began to ring and although tempted to ignore it and use the excuse of his holiday Mycroft knew Anthea would not allow the call to get this if it was not important and so with a deep sigh and one last bounce of his niece he answered. 

“Mycroft Holmes” He answered.

***   
John tilted the glass of scotch to the side and watched how the amber liquid kissed the edge without slipping over.   
What was he doing?

Wasn’t this just the behavior he hated in his sister and mother? The pair of them sitting listlessly nursing glasses of some unspecified alcohol and cursing the world around them. As if the world and life was not unfair to the majority of the population.   
His self hatred did not stop him from downing what remained of the burning liquid however. 

Then John slept. He slept and he dreamt. Dreamt of a world where his mother and sister were not alcoholics. Where being informed of a child coming into the family was met with joy and wonder rather than cursing, homophobia and tears. So many tears. He dreamt of a world where he got to hold Sherlock. Where he got to come home after doing what he had to and simply hold the man. He dreamt of a world where Sherlock was still alive and a world where John got to tell him he loved him. A world where he was a good enough man to be the father Mina deserved.   
***   
The Minister for Internal Affairs in Amsterdam had died in a prostitute’s bed after being shot in the head and subsequently shitting his pants. All in all it made for a rather disgusting and humiliating tableau that Mycroft had the joy of staring at while his niece entertained herself by crumpling copies of last month’s meeting memos into small enough balls that she could throw them toward Mycroft’s desk and get a good amount of distance covered. She was gleeful in both the balls construction, their forced momentum and in their retrieval once her experiment was over. 

The dead minister was not in actuality the focus of Mycroft’s attention, neither unfortunately was his niece, his focus instead belonged to the blonde behemoth of Sebastian Moran who had been picked up wandering the streets of both Amsterdam and Germany with very little care for his image being captured or his illegal activities drawing the attention. Sebastian Moran left a trail of dead bodies behind him because he believed no one would stand up to stop him. 

He was wrong. He had caught Mycroft Holmes attention and now he would regret it. 

***   
This time when John’s phone rang it blinked with Mycroft’s name and John decided he had spent long enough curled into a ball of hurt and rejection and that what he really wanted was his daughter. So he answered his phone managing to sound at least somewhat human and hopefully hiding the amount of brooding in the dark he had indulged in over the last eighteen hours.

“Yes” John said simply. He could hear people in the background, a great number of people, and John was shocked because how often to Mycroft consent to being surrounded by more than five people. 

“John, I understand that you are in some way recovering for what I assume was an unpleasant visit with your family but I am standing in Harrods main entrance hall about to go shopping. I thought you might wish to join Mina and myself for the outing.” 

The tone of Mycroft’s voice conveyed that although he was extending an offer refusal was no longer an option and if John resisted he would simply be scooped up by some men dressed in black suits and deposited in a car so John said; “yes” and ten minutes later, face splashed with water and teeth brushed, found himself in the back of a town car making his way into the center of London lit up for Christmas.


	5. Christmas Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini chapter I'm afraid doves. This story is really fighting against being written. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. 
> 
> MJ x

Four years ago John Watson had spent Christmas on an army base in Afghanistan stitching up bodies and generally ignorant to the time of year. 

Four years ago Mycroft Holmes spent Christmas searching for and finally finding his brother in a drug den, passed out and smelling of vomit and urine, Sherlock would beg and promise never again just as long as Mycroft didn’t involve their parent’s. Mycroft never forced them on him. Not after the first time he had and how badly that had gone for all involved. He was not even sure that they would come if he were to call and tell them Sherlock had once again been located in some nefarious den of London high as a kite on some cocktail of opiates. Instead Mycroft sat in the waiting room of Guildford's Emergency Department and read the list of chemical's Sherlock had pumped into his body this time, his brother was becoming more creative. 

Four years ago Mina Watson-Holmes had yet to come into existence. 

One year ago she had spent Christmas screaming for comfort and warmth against the frightening shadows of the world. She had been picked up and muffled against the sweet smelling skin of her mother. She had been comforted as well as her mother were able and kept safe from the wander eyes of the men who owned and ran the dank space Mina's mother called their home.

Her mother who had sold her freedom in the end for the sharp relief of a drug that ravaged her body and would one day lead to the end of her life. They had four months left, Mina and her Mother, before Mina would lose the only comfort she had ever known.

A year ago Mina had been known by a different name and her mother had sung to her soothing her darling ‘Poppy’ to sleep trying valiantly to feed her with the nonexistent milk of her body. 

One year ago there were no present’s for ‘Poppy’, there was nothing that glittered and nothing that captured the imagination. A year ago ‘Poppy’ didn’t understand or hear the stories of hope and love that filled the air at this time of year. She witnessed none of the magic and heard none of the songs her Uncle’s and Father would use to rock her to sleep with each evening. 

But ‘Poppy’ was now Mina and her first Christmas, the one that counted, was full of so much wonder than the twenty month old found it overwhelming. She refused to be put down as Mycroft carried her through the doors of Harrods and faced the splendour of Christmas only London at its best could create. 

She stared wide eyed as young men and women with sparkling white teeth asked shoppers if they needed assistant. She smelt the spice and wine on the air in the same way she did when Mrs Hudson took over the kitchen to make Christmas pudding. Someone to their left approached with a booming voice and asked if Mycroft needed assistance. Her uncle snarled when Mina let out of shocked exclamation at the man’s abnormally polished appearance. 

John joined them in the children’s clothing section where Mina had been successfully distracted by rows upon rows of frilly dresses which despite her father’s best efforts Mina still adored and Mycroft doted upon her by buying the things by the rack full. When John found them Mina was leading Mycroft through the aisles and pointing to the clothing she liked, most of which was entirely impractical, and Mycroft was collecting each item in the correct size and handing it to the sales assistant following them around like an overexcited puppy. 

“Is this what he does when he looks after her for the day?” John asked Anthea who stood off to the side of the spectacle.

“More often than not, Mycroft has more money than sense when It comes to that little girl.”

They spend their day smiling and laughing at the faces Mycroft pulls when faced with too perky sales staff. Mycroft left them for a time to face off against the masses in women’s accessories where John tries valiantly to find a scarf and glove set respectable enough for Mrs Holmes and Mina continued her mission of pointing a procuring amongst the Hermes silk scarves. John buys one for Mrs Hudson in the end because Mina it turns out has excellent taste. 

Mycroft organised afternoon tea which Mina mostly sleeps through latched onto John’s chest. John rocked his body slowly and hums a tune he remembers Sherlock playing on the violin last Christmas. He fights against the feelings of guilt that fill his mind as he obsesses over his mother's insults and judging words. 

“John, I won’t force you to discuss your evening. I understand that family dynamics can be complex and emotionally wrought but know that if you want to talk to either myself or Gregory we are more than happy to listen.” Mycroft offered. 

John nodded his appreciation at the offer but stayed silent; Mycroft, in response, sipped his tea and silently watched the tableau of John and Mina. One of the best things about Mycroft in John’s eyes would always be his appreciation of silence.


	6. Snow Fall on a Saturday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day what is this madness.
> 
> I hope this one goes alright too, if you have issues with PTSD or therapy this isn't the chapter for you. 
> 
> Be happy dears 
> 
> MJ X

“It’s been a long time John. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here today?” Ella asked from her usual seat.

“It’s not been that long.” John bites back his voice revealing his anxiety at being back in this room facing these windows and watching the soft flakes of snow cling to the glass. He flexed his stiff fingers feeling the cotton of his bandage rub against his knuckles irritating the broken skin hidden from view.

Ella clicked her tongue against her teeth and John watched her reflection uncrossing and recrossing her  legs in the windows polished glass.

John’s not an idiot he knows Ella doesn’t like him. He is a difficult and unresponsive patient, unwilling to engage in even the simplest of therapeutic techniques. Doctors make the worst patients and men of his age who were raised in the environment he was and born to parents like his, they just did not talk about their emotions. 

“John you are clearly in pain. If you won’t talk to me then why did you make this appointment?” Ella asked shortly.

“Because it was the right thing to do.” John said with a shrug.

“Why do you say that?” Ella asked.

“Because I had an episode, I lost control, I lost control and I scared Mina.”

“Mina. your daughter?” Ella inquired tilting her head in that way she did when she already knew the bloody answer.

“Yes.” John said allowing himself to fall heavily into the hard backed leather chair.

They sat in silence with John fiddling with his bandage and Ella tapping her pencil slowly against the blank page of her notebook. John wanted to ask why she used a pencil rather than a pen. A pen would seem more professional surely. But instead he sat in the uncomfortable silence and watched the scratched leather of his shoes flex as he bends the tips of his toes and pushed down against the carpet wanting to feel the movement of his feet within the soft cotton of his socks, a juxtaposition to his bandage. John loved the luxury of clean socks. When he had been in Afghanistan it was one of the things he longed for at night when he was trying to block of the laughter of the other soldiers and the click of weapons being checked and loaded. He stills dreams of Afghanistan sometimes but not normally…

“Not normally what John?” Ella asked her pencil hesitating just above the paper which now has a few lines of chicken scratch scrawl. John hadn’t realized he was speaking out loud. He shook his head and Ella pursed her lips but let the subject drop. They’re not here to talk about his war dreams after all.

They are here to talk about him punching a journalist in the nose. So John started at the beginning, started with him lifting Mina up onto his shoulders so she could reach higher branches on Mycroft's monster of a tree and lay the delicate glass ornaments amongst its branches. 

“The man broke into the yard of the house we’re staying in. Mina saw him out of the window and she screamed. The man set off running but not before snapping photos of us. I ran after him, I was so angry Ella, and I just kept hearing Mina screaming. I just, god the screaming was so loud.” John rubbed his palms vigorously over his scalp pulling lightly on the strands to try and center himself in the room and the present. He did not want to return to the desolate wilderness of the desert and the pain of hot lead ripping through his body. 

“Is that when you lost control John? When she screamed?” Ella asked him quietly. 

“I…maybe…I was just so angry and I wanted to get the camera except it didn’t look like a camera when I caught him. It looked like a gun.” John clasped his hands together in his lap trying to push down the shake he could feel in the left.

“It wasn’t a gun John.” Ella said softly. John wanted to snap that he knew that now. That he knew it had just been a camera but that at the time, in that moment, where he chased the man who had invaded his daughter’s privacy down, it had looked like one. it had been a threat to the person he loved most and he refused to fail at protecting her. he refused to fail again he thought. He wanted to say that it had looked like one of the battered and outdated rifles the Taliban soldiers had carried when they fought against John’s men.

John said none of that as he cupped his head again and sighed. Ella continued;

“You could have killed that man John, that’s the issue here, yes you punched him but it could have been worse if your Brother in Law’s boyfriend hadn’t pulled you off him. You’re lucky not to be facing assault charges.” 

John wanted to snap that Mycroft wasn’t his Brother in Law and that Lestrade had landed a solid kick on the photographer’s flank while holding John off him. He didn’t though he sat in his shame with his eyes’ closed and said nothing.

The tick of the clock filled the room for a few moments and John lost himself in counting each strike of the second hand. A soft thump of thick paper hitting rug on the floor brought him back to the room and John cracked his eyes open and looked down on the spread of newspaper’s Ella was throwing into his eye line. Each of them bore a headline on the same subject. Each of them held a similar photograph. 

** Justice for Sherlock Holmes! Jim Moriarty Shown To Be 'A Real and Present Danger to United Kingdom' **

** #WeBelieveInSherlockHolmes Trends Worldwide As Detective's Name Is Cleared At Last **

** “You’re My Hero.” John Watson’s Last Words to ‘The Hat Detective’! **

** Sherlock Holmes Was An Innocent Man **

“They always choose the bloody hat photograph.” John grumbled kicked out against the nearest tabloid. 

“I imagine they’ve been after a quote or an interview.” Ella commented casting the last tabloid in her hand a glance before throwing it on the ground with a sneer.

“Yeah and they’re not getting one.” John said rolling his shoulders and sitting up in his chair.   

“Hmmm…probably wise. They never do print the truth. What’s the truth then?”  She sat opposite him, perfectly straight back, and held his eye. “If all of this is bollocks what’s the truth John?” Ella asked again.

“He’s dead.” John said shortly leaning back and breaking their eye contact. Casting around for something else to stare at.

“True, what else? He’s dead. He jumped off a roof. You stood there and watched. I know all of that. But tell me the truth. Why does it matter? Who was Sherlock Holmes?”

John waited for a moment uncertain if his therapist was joking “Why does it matter?! What? He was my best mate and he was fucking right. Of course it matters.”

“He was your friend, yes that’s true, lot’s of your friends are dead John and you’re not raising their children.” Ella flicked out her fingers not meeting John's bewildered eyes.

John sat in shock for a moment before getting up and pacing. “What the fuck are you saying?” He finally asked and Ella just sat there in her chair and shrugged.

“Why does it matter that Sherlock Holmes is dead?” She reiterated slowly.

“He had a daughter. She needs him. Mina needs him.”

“Mina has you and she never knew Sherlock. She doesn’t need him.”

“He fucking matter’s he has a family and friends. A brother. Mycroft misses him. The world was better with him in it.”

“Why?” 

“What. Look at him. He was a hero.” John said gesturing down to the articles at Ella’s feet.

“Was he? I'm quite sure you called him a prat in your blog, a brilliant one but still. Wasn't there something about the moon and the sun.”

“Yes precisely he was brilliant.” John skipped over the astrological quip, he should never have published that. 

“The world is full of brilliant people John. You yourself could be called brilliant. You’re a war hero, a doctor, a kind man in everyone’s view.”

“Stop it. I’m not him.”

“No?”

“No! I can never be him. I will never be able to be him.”

“And why does that matter?”

“Because the world was better with him in it!” John shouted.

“THE world or YOUR world John?” Ella asked.

There was nothing and then John asked quietly, “Do you want me to tell you I loved him?”

Ella stopped her hand as she was lifted her tea cup from its saucer, “It would be a start John but I fear not accurate enough” She admitted.

“Are you going to tell me I didn’t?” John asked and Ella shook her head the loose pony tails of curls bouncing slightly.

“No John. I’m going to tell you that you still do.” She answered.

John nodded tightly looking back out of the window at the blanket of snow. He accepted months ago that he would probably always be in love with Sherlock bloody Holmes.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” John whispered to the snow.

“Why not?” Ella asked sounding genuinely curious.

“Because he never loved me. He wouldn’t have left me if he loved me.” That is the truth for John. Sherlock could never have loved him because Sherlock would never have left him alone if he had. Would never have left John to face this pain and confusion alone if he had loved him.

“So you feel abandoned?”

“Yes. No…I’m not sure.” John takes a deep breath and settled himself on the arm of the chair he had abandoned earlier. He watched as the snow built against the window, covering the corners and casting shadows across the very edge of the room to dance in the light from Ella's stark white lamps. Ella allowed him the space to think and John closed his eyes and thought about Sherlock.

“I dream about him” John whispered.

“That’s normal.”

“I dream about him jumping” John added.

“I would expect you to.”

“I dream about…I dream about him loving me.” John said to the snow, he heard his voice catch and took a deep breath to squash the bubble of emotion that caused the ache behind his eyeballs. Ella set her notepad and pencil down on her side table and walked over to watch the snow fall and the shadows dance at John’s side.

“Are you ashamed of your feelings because he was a man?” She asked quietly and John considered. If he was honest with himself no part of discovering his bisexuality has been a surprise. It had been a part of him his whole life; it just took Sherlock and more importantly admitting he had been in love with Sherlock to allow him to say it out loud.

“I’m not ashamed of being bisexual Ella.”

“Good. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” John laughed at the fierceness of her tone.

“You don’t act much like a therapist.” John said opening his eyes and looking at the woman to his right.

“You don’t act like someone who wants a therapist. I don’t know what you want John but structured therapy isn’t it” Ella shrugged.

“No,” John chuckled “I suppose not.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Therapy isn’t for everyone. I do think you need someone to tell you the truth though.”

“Is that your job then?” John asked.

“No, I don’t know that I know the truth you need telling. I can’t look at you and know your life history.” Ella shrugged.

“Sherlock could” John whispered to himself.

“You’re allowed to miss him John, you’re allowed to grieve him and rail against the injustice of what happened but you need to accept the inevitable. He’s gone John and you’re still here. You have a daughter, someone who needs you, have some fun. It’s Christmas. Eat too much food and watch terrible Christmas movies full of sappy story lines.”

“You know you could also go and find someone to kiss under the mistletoe.” Ella suggested light heartedly.

“Are you making a suggestion Ella because I’m not sure that’s in your job description.” Ella clipped him lightly on the shoulder as John laughed.

“No John but it’s been a while since you saw anyone. Maybe it would be nice if you dip your toe in the dating lake again.”

“Seriously I don’t think I’m ready. There’s a woman at work called Mary, she’s new and really very sweet but I’m just not feeling it. I feel guilty if I even consider flirting with her.”

“John you shouldn’t feel guilt. It’s natural to flirt with someone you’re attracted too. Sherlock wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone.”

John thought to himself that such a comment highlighted the fact Ella had never met Sherlock, Sherlock would want him to be alone, he would want to be at the center of John’s mind constantly.John wanted to tell her about all the times Sherlock had intterupted a date, walked into his room when he was trying to get his partner naked or on one more memorable occasion walked into the bathroom when John had a woman pinned against the shower wall. John would have sworn Sherlock had been out.

“I just don’t have it in me yet. She’s nice but she’s not Sherlock.”

“Eventually John you’re going to accept that Sherlock isn’t coming back.”  

John did not answer. They sat together in silence and let the snow fall as the remaining ten minutes of their session ticked past. They shook hands as John walked out the door and Ella stood by the window as the black town car pulled away from the front porch of her office.


	7. Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to wrap this portion of the story up in the next two chapters and then move on to the next installment of the series as a certain Detective needs rescuing and Christmas is proving difficult to write in April. I adore you all for reading along with what was supposed to be a quick fic and has instead turned into a slight monster to write. 
> 
> Smooches dears!   
> MJ X

Mycroft remembered Sherlock’s first Christmas. He had been too young to appreciate the spectacle of the Manor decorated in its festive splendour, too young to enjoy Christmas treats or to giggle at the antics of their parent’s once the sherry started flowing, but Sherlock had found a great deal of fascination in the wrapping paper.

Ever the detective presents had been treated as mysteries in need of solving and once properly investigated they would often become uninteresting. Wooden trains and overly stuffed teddy bears whose necks were covered in Holmes tartan ribbon were rejected in favour of exploring the piles of paper that crumbled wonderfully between chubby fists and reflected intricate patterns onto the boy child’s sleep suit. 

“Myc?” Sherlock asked as he turned to him grinning and showing off his maroon coloured prize. His Father took the requisite photographs and captured decent enough smiles to be content and move off the celebrate Christmas with his Mother who kept her distance as she often did when they were all together like this. Mycroft watched out of the corner of his eye as his Mother observed Sherlock’s antics and made no move to stop him from sticking the paper in his mouth for further experimentation besides tutting vaguely in the young boys’ direction.

Mycroft took over as he liked to when he was allowed such unfettered access to Sherlock. Since he left for school their time together was minimal and often observed. Mycroft knew no one believed he was responsible for the accident that had befallen Sherlock so many months ago in his bathroom but Mycroft still felt as if he were being punished; punished for failing Sherlock and his parent’s in some way.

“No Lockie you must not eat it.” Mycroft said extracting the paper and offering Sherlock his sippy cup when the boy grumbled at being denied his chosen occupation. “The paper covers your gifts see?” Mycroft pulls over a large box beautifully wrapped in wrapping paper holding the same tartan patter as on the bear’s ribbon. He helped Sherlock onto his feet to stand alongside the box and between the two of them they pulled the edges to reveal of beautiful rocking horse that matched Mycroft’s own except for the dark blue reigns that replaced Mycroft’s dark red.

“Oh Lockie look it’s a horse. Just like mine, would you like to have a ride?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock nodded up at him his eyes wide in the site of the beautiful mounts painted flank. Mycroft managed to settle him upon the saddle and secure his feet in the golden stirrups. “You have to hold on to the reigns Lockie or you might fall.” Sherlock looked up clearly scared at the prospect and Mycroft left his hand on his back.

“Don’t worry I’m right here I won’t let you fall,” Mycroft promised “I’ll never let you fall.”

***

Mycroft woke with a start and patted down the side of the bed next to him it was a moment before he remembered Gregory had already left to spend Christmas with his own family. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep and the dream that had left a lingering scent of mahogany wood polish in his mind Mycroft stumbled into his en suite and straight into the shower. 

***

Down the hall John was throwing off his own dreams of Christmas past. He cracked an eye and looked down to the crib resting against the opposite wall. Mina slept soundly having kicked off her blanket during the night her tight curls flattened on one side by her position during the night her miniature cupid bow lips parted in a slight puff of breath as John watched.  He rolled over and stretched his tired bones and in an effort to leave his daughter still sleeping John slunk out of Sherlock’s bed and into the bathroom leaving the door open the smallest amount so he could hear Mina if she shouted for him while he showered.

When John was Mina’s age he had vague recollections of spending Christmas Eve in the back seat of his Father’s beaten up Honda driving for a few hours up the motorway in the dead of night and early morning. John remembered waking up to his Gran’s smiling face and hugs that smelt like cinnamon and brown sugar. She had held him so close and sat with him in his Grandparent’s small galley kitchen while he shook off the smell of stale fast food and spilt larger that saturated the worn material of his Father’s car.

John was only four when she had died but he remembered those Christmas’s as the best of his life before Baker Street. Christmas with just his parent’s and Harry had never been the same no matter how hard he tried to decorate and bake like his Gran had for them. He wanted Mina to have the memories he remembered his Gran creating rather than those he knew and saw so much clearer. He slipped into the hot steam of the shower stream and losing himself in the scent of his body wash and the rhythmic patter of the water against the shower’s base he considered the best way to spend the day before Christmas.  

Fifteen minutes and one close shave later John walked out of the bathroom wrapped in his towelling robe and grinned to find Mina standing and leaning against the bars of her crib yawning broadly and babbling to no one in particular.

“Good morning my little Christmas Fairy, are you ready for your first Christmas?” Mina continued to yawn as she stretched toward John. John scooped her up and commenced readying them both for the day.

 “Come on Baby Girl let’s go get some breakfast.”

“Cribmuss?” Mina asked as they walked down the stairs and John smiled before taking her through the word again and listened as she struggled with the hard ‘t’ sound for a while.

“It’s Christmas Eve darling which means we only have one more sleep before Christmas Day.”


	8. If You Asked About Christmas

If a stranger were to ask Mycroft Holmes what the clearest memory from his niece’s first Christmas had been he wouldn’t have known where to start.

Should he blush slightly and explain that as well as it being his first Christmas as an uncle it was also his first being the partner to one Gregory Lestrade, a silver fox of a police officer, who seemed to insist on filling every moment of his free time, when not actively pursing activities involving his being inside Mycroft (or with Mycroft pressing inside him), devising spectacular methods of making Mycroft fall even more in love with him. From small whispered reassurances while Mycroft dressed to soothing his frazzled emotions when the paper’s broken the story of Sherlock’s innocence before Mycroft had warned his parent’s to expect it. Gregory was the highlight of Mycroft’s Christmas, but then again being in possession of Gregory’s love was quick becoming the highlight of Mycroft’s life.

No perhaps not. It would not do to reveal too much of one’s self when in conversation with a stranger.

So would he instead wear a soft smile and nod when asked if it had been pleasant and say that Mina had made the occasion a pleasure but he often missed his brother in the moments he spent within her attention. Would he explain how having his parents there with him was a nice diversion but that anxiously watching Mina judge them and find them lacking in some way made for an uncomfortable lunch for all involved. John would try to encourage the little girl to interact with the pair but she would stand firm in her Sherlockian stubbornness and refuse to eat her lunch until Mrs Hudson scooped her into her own napkin covered lap and fed her off her own plate.  He would refrain from mentioning how watching the older woman exchange small smiles with his niece and how Mina was free with her affection while wrapped in Mrs Hudson’s arms had warmed his heart even while he acknowledged how difficult it must be for his parent’s.

He would certainly not mention how his mother threw a monumental tantrum at the level of involvement the other woman had in Mina’s life or the fact that she believed she would be allowed more access if Sherlock had been alive. He would not mention how John had attempted to apologise, how Mina had started crying and how he himself had lost his temper and asked his Mother to remove herself until she was calm.

But no that would never do his Father would never forgive him if his Mother were painted in such a negative light.

So perhaps he would focus on Mina. On watching her fascination with the Christmas lights and decorations, on holding her up so she could place the intricate metal star on top of the tree, on having her sit in his lap while they watched the Christmas Carol and how afterward once Mina had fallen fast asleep he carried her into what had been Sherlock’s room and promised her all the magical memories he could create.

Would he perhaps mention drinking whiskey in the library with John and attempting to wrap presents with the precision he remembered from his childhood while becoming intoxicated. Would he speak about the conversation the men had shared about John’s therapy or the slightly drunken conversation he had shared with Gregory that even while wrapped in their bed. Could he bring himself to even share the memory of the whispered moans, curses and declarations the pair had shared the night before Christmas.

All of this would be unlikely.

Most likely was that Mycroft would merely nod to the stranger describe it as pleasant and move them on to topics less likely to make his heart leap and his face flush. After all he had not cultivated himself the title of Ice Man for nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has missed out on the Sherlock Letters you can find them here:http://archiveofourown.org/works/5264882/chapters/12148517


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